print previewback KIRUN KAPUR
Motorcycles
Bare chrome, fast grin, hot pipes
remind me I have skin. Piss off,
you plush backseats, I am a flag
whipped taut in wind,
a cyclops with a golden eye—
I have a rampage caught between my knees.
When black road opens its throat,
when the engine kicks and kisses,
when I’m nothing but an articulate machine—
drag bars, shaft drive, V-twin. Darling,
if I idle like a tidal wave outside your door,
come out, unwind me from my leather. 
The Bird Watchers
In the Rub’ al Khali
Motorcycles
Sea Anemone